¹⁷ I never sat with the band of revelers,
and I did not celebrate with them.
Because your hand was on me, I sat alone,^(A)
for you filled me with indignation.
¹⁸ Why has my pain become unending,
my wound incurable,^(B)
refusing to be healed?
You truly have become like a mirage to me—
water that is not reliable.

If you return, I will take you back;
you will stand in my presence.
And if you speak noble words,
rather than worthless ones,
you will be my spokesman.^(C)
It is they who must return to you;
you must not return to them.